Monsters Under My Bed
by EVOLEHT
Summary: I'm just a girl battling life. And I'm losing. My name is Bella, and I'm going to kill myself. I know I shouldn't, but sometimes life hits back too hard. Sometimes my demons haunt me. Sometimes, it's like I'm meant to die- so I've got to put that gun to my head, I've got to swallow the bottle of pills, I've got to die. I'm not strong enough to survive the monsters under my bed.
1. Chapter 1

Dear you,

I don't know how this works, this whole suicide note thing. I don't know why I said dear you, I should have said dear world, because this is who it's really to, the world. I would want to go out with a bang, with a punch, but I don't even care anymore, I just want this torment to be over, my own imagination is killing me, it's making me do this. That's why I don't care about any of this shit, grammar, punctuation, spelling, nobody gives a fuck, they just care about what this says, because apparently this, THIS is supposed to answer everything.

I have enough sense to not make this a giant block of words. Even though it will royally piss off everyone. I don't care about pissing anybody off, I just want to get my thoughts down before I die. Because I am going to die. As soon as I finish this, I'm going to do it. I don't know how yet, I don't really care about the details at this point. This is probably the most important thing I'll ever do, or say. Why do I care so much when all I want to do is die?

It's not that simple. I don't just want to die, I want to leave, I want to get away from it all. My imagination, life, the torment. But why is this so important? Why do I need to get this down, why is it the most important thing I'll ever do? Because people need to know, they need to realize what this shit does to you, how one simple mistake can just end it all.

Now that I've got that down, I'll introduce myself. Hi, I'm Bella, I was born in 97' and I'm going to kill myself. I sound so pathetic. Well, right after I finish this. What do I call this? Suicide Note? No, this is more than a note, I'm going to write a fucking novel, whether I finish this or not I don't know, because if the monsters come back….if the monsters are too strong, well, I can't just sit down and write and ignore them. No, I've got to put a gun to my head, I've got to swallow an entire bottle of pills, I've got to die. So I apologize in advance, if I don't answer all your questions, if the monsters crawl from underneath my bed, if they come out of my closet, then well, they'll kill me, and if they kill me, you'll be left with an unfinished sentence, and I'm sorry if that happens.

No, fuck that, I won't be sorry, I'm not sorry anymore, even if this all my fault, I don't give a fuck anymore. I just want to get this down, that's all I care about. I'll fight the monsters for you, I'll try, but they'll get me eventually, and eventually I'll leave you with that unfinished sentence. With blood splattered across the pages, my last breath wrapped up in these fucking pages. And you'll have to clean up the mess and read this, you have to understand what this shit does to you.

So maybe I should start? If this is the most cliché way to tell this, then oh fucking well, this is how I'm going to tell it. I'm going to tell you a story, a fairytale to be exact. So here we go. Once upon a time, there was a girl. This girl was a whore. She was a dirty filthy whore with no morals and no time to lose. Does that make sense? Do you see this girl? No, she didn't walk around with her tits out and shorts so tight…well, you know what that looks like. No, she was fat, she hid behind baggy jeans and sweatshirts. So how the fuck did she get any sex? Just shut up now, if you've got a problem with my language well…don't leave, oh no, don't you leave! You fucking get over, you read this! I'm going to be colorful, this story is colorful, like colorful, be colorful, life is colorful so shut the fuck up.

It's not hard, guys will stick their shit in anything with a hole. All she had to do was ask…all she had to do was be blunt. "Hey, Want to fuck?" Asked a fat girl in baggy clothes. Any hot guy she saw she had to conquest. What's the worst they could say? No? She could go ask another guy. What did she have to lose? Fucking nothing.

Well, you know how she was, but her story, now that's interesting. It started last summer. Went to the river with her parents, ventured off in her bikini, thighs jiggling, everything. She walked up on a couple shoving their tongues in eachothers throats. They were hidden in a small clearing. It's hard to explain, but like, the branches of trees went down, and there was a little fortress, that's a better word, fortress. You had to bend down and walk over a sideways trunk, she heard them before she even went in.

Heard the other girl moaning, begging him to just fuck her already. The girl, the original girl, she stood and stared at them. The other girl had no top on, the guy was in his trunks. He was cute, she was cute, a cute couple making out in some hobo's house. You could tale, their was beer bottles, torn shit, shit everywhere. That's where hobos lived, in these little hiding spots in the forest around the river.

She smiled at them when they noticed. The other girl got embarrest. You know what? This boring shit doesn't matter. What matters is that they became friends. Those three, and they would meet up at the river. But one day, his girlfriend didn't come with him, so the girl took it upon herself to fuck him. She didn't kiss him, not she never kissed anybody, she just pushed him down, ripped off his pants, sucked him so hard he couldn't say no.

That always makes me smile that day. That day he begged me to stop, he had a girlfriend… ahh… fuck…. nope, I wasn't stopping, and he couldn't say no anymore. He pulled me up, tried to kiss me… no, no, we're talking about the girl, no, not me! The girl! The girl! She didn't stop! So he pushed her to the ground, with twigs and broken glass under her, she could feel a piece jabbing into her back every time he thrusted his hips, she didn't care, hell, it felt good! And when it was over he cried. She frowned and pulled out the glass, the pain not even a worry, pain didn't faze her, it felt good, she squeezed her legs together and pulled it out, her body shuddering as pain throbbed through her entire body. It sent a chill up her spine and she through the bloody glass away, but the boy never noticed.

Well, this sure doesn't sound like a fairytale does it? Fucking homewrecker right? She's not a princess, he's not a prince, no, she's a filthy whore, and so was he, fucking in a homeless person's home, on top of glass and sticks. Worst than fucking in a McDonald's bathroom, worst than screwing up against the mirror in a grocery store bathroom. Up against crates in the back room of the grocery store, behind the black doors that say no entry.

None of this shit makes sense does it? I think I've made it clear though, she's a whore, this is a tradgidy about a fucking whore, literelly a fucking whore. Don't mind my spelling, I know I can't spell, it'd be a miricale, miracle, if you can read this with my shitty handwriting. Be fucking glad I'm not crying yet. See how atrocus, atrocius (fuck it, I don't know how to spell that word, you know what I'm trying to say though, right?) my handwriting will be then, my spelling, my grammar. All shit, that's what that'd look like.

I've got to go, though, I'm tired, I can't fight away the mosters, monsters if I'm tired? Right? Do you want this to end now? No, you fucking don't. You don't want this to end now, because I'll be dead, and you won't even know why. Not that you'll know the difference when you read this, it'll all be at the same time to you, but for me? No, days, I have to write quick, tell you my story quick! Quick! Wird, weird word right? Sorry, I have no eraser, I don't feel like finding a pencil with an eraser, I want to sleep, I want to still write. Suicide rant! Got it, that's what this is, a suicide rant? No it's a story. Shit, fuck it. Bye. Hopefully I come back right! Good night!


	2. Chapter 2

AN: I thank those who decided to give this story a chance, and those of you who... had interesting things to say... I'll just be the bigger person and just let you know I respect your opinion, but I disagree. Don't forget to comment, whether it be praise, constructive criticism, or pure hatred... all are welcome.

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Dear world,

Well, I guess I survived long enough to come back to you. How could I forget? That's all I do, walk around figuring out I'm going to tell this. Quick, I do want to do it quick, yeah, but how long? How detailed should I be? Should I tell you every single little bloody detail, lieterally, literally (is that right?) bloody.

So I decided to dance with the devil, I'm writing this in the backyard. What does that got to do with anything though? Well, I need to finish my story first. I don't want to leave anything out, I don't want to say so much at once, your fragile mind will just be confused. That's all we do, walk around all confused and lonely and lost, so we turn to evil shit, like murder and suicide and tearing yourself apart, because we're all so damn confused.

I don't think I told you what I look like, did I? Well, why does it even matter? It don't mean a damn thing, but I'll tell you anyways, no, no, actually no, I'm not going to tell you. Think of me however you want, because then, then everybody has their own version of me. How do you see me? You, the person reading this at this exact moment. I already said I was fat, oh wait, that was the girl in the story wasn't it. Damn, I ruined it, you already know a bit. Am I pretty though? Do you think I'm pretty?

It don't matter, not a thing matters, everything is just bullshit. Oh! Got my hair done today, looking hot! You know what that shit is? That motherfucking bullshit is a post. Facebook, twitter, whatever the fuck else online social network. I never paid much attention to all the different ones, what they were, I was too busy fucking dudes, oops, I wasn't supposed to say that. But it's down. No, no, this is all wrong. I'd crumple this up, but I want to keep it all in the same notebook and my first letter to you is on the front of this paper, well, actually part of it, it was pretty long, take in my shitty handwriting and we've got about ten pages, and that last tenth page is on the front of this one. I am not going to re-write shit.

Where was I? I don't know, I'm kind of tired, and a bit cold, it's pretty cold outside. There's a piece of shit next to me, a piece of dog shit. Just sitting there next to me on the half dead, half too alive grass. I'm sitting on the grass, I planted my ass right on this nasty ass grass and I'm writing right now, well, what else would I be doing? Having sex? Yeah right, I can multi-task, but not like that…well actually…now that I think about it, it wouldn't be hard at all. Lol, well, one thing will be hard, pretty hard.

My baby is is the ground underneath me, I planted my ass right over the dirty that covers her little body. I bet if I just reached in there I could wrap my hands around her little body, pull her out, breathe life into her tiny body, tiny fragile dead body. I can barely write I'm so tired, I'm always tired now, how can I get anything done when I'm tired? Can't write, can't think, nothing, days all blend together.


End file.
